Chapter 225: The Solitary Long-Wave Sound
The shelter pod's long-wave radio was situated in a small, independent soundproof booth near the command area. The cramped space could barely fit an operating console and a single chair. The military police officer on guard wore a pair of old monitoring headphones, his fingertips turning the frequency tuning knob repeatedly. A continuous hiss of white noise flooded his ear canal without end.
According to the established protocols, he had to transmit an encrypted distress message every two hours. The message detailed the coordinates of the West Bastion, the number of remaining survivors, the inventory of supplies, and key intelligence regarding the ancient beings' siege. When the transmit button was pressed, the weak radio waves broke through the thick spore cloud and rock layers, drifting toward the other five bastions. Yet, from the beginning of the siege until now, apart from the endless static, not a single response signal had ever been received in the headphones.
"Message sent. No acknowledgment," the guard reported to Scholar Su in a hoarse voice as he took off his headphones.
Scholar Su nodded gently, a lingering heaviness hidden in his eyes. Everyone knew in their hearts that hope was growing increasingly slim. The six bastions were simultaneously under full-scale assault by the lizard ancient beings. Every defensive line was locked in a bloody battle, and the communication network had suffered massive damage. Even if a message was luckily intercepted by another stronghold, whether they could spare troops or break through the densely distributed scaled beast blockades along the way to reach the West Bastion remained entirely unknown.
"Do not stop. Continue sending on schedule," Scholar Su instructed in a low voice. "As long as the radio can still operate, this outward channel must not be severed."
Beyond the booth, the cabin remained submerged in oppressive agony.
After the back door was completely sealed by the rock layer, everyone's attention was forcibly drawn to the main gate, the sole remaining line of defense. The three third-tier scaled beasts took turns leading the charge to ram the alloy door. The rhythm of the ramming was slow and steady—thud, thud, thud. Each impact transmitted through the thick steel plate, becoming a constant background noise within the iron box.
The gate itself was strong enough to withstand the physical impact of the scaled beasts and would not shatter in the short term. The Beast Commander naturally understood this; the purpose of the ramming was never to break the door, but to deliver continuous psychological blows. It deliberately timed the impacts for the moments when people were just about to doze off. Whenever someone managed to endure the psychic sting and their consciousness was on the verge of sinking into sleep, a muffled ram would suddenly ring out, forcefully dragging them back to the cold, sober reality.
The Sea of Consciousness erosion by the Sharp-Sense Ancient Being still maintained a constant intensity, like a blunt nail permanently embedded in everyone's mind. There was no sudden, explosive agony, but the pain was omnipresent. Dizziness, fatigue, and a lack of focus became the norm. Many soldiers on guard duty had to repeatedly pinch their own arms hard during their shifts, relying on the physical pain of their flesh to fight against the numbness and illusions surging within their Sea of Consciousness.
The tactics of the Illusion Ancient Being grew increasingly insidious.
The scenes of bloody slaughter decreased, replaced by fragmented memories of the distant past. Some saw clothes drying in their own courtyards, with evening cooking smoke slowly rising. Some heard the bustling crowds in the bastion's marketplace, the familiar cries of vendors echoing in their ears. Still others saw scenes of resting with their comrades before the war, the laughter and joy so clear it felt within reach. These illusions held no malice, yet they were the most grueling. After the fleeting beauty faded, the resulting sense of loss magnified the despair manifold.
A young military police officer fell into an illusion while on guard, a faint smile unconsciously appearing on his face as his grip on the short spear slowly loosened. It wasn't until his teammate beside him shoved him hard and repeatedly shouted the wake-up code that he suddenly came to his senses. The smile instantly froze on his face. Looking down at the enclosed, dim cabin, his shoulders trembled slightly. He did not cry out loud; he merely gripped his weapon again, his fingertips turning white from the force.
The situation in the wounded area continued to deteriorate.
Two more wounded soldiers developed persistent high fevers from wound infections. The military doctor had absolutely no anti-infection drugs left and could only continuously apply cool gauze to physically lower their temperatures. Two more bodies were added to those covered by canvas. The small storage compartment was nearly full. The corpses slowly emitted a strange odor, mingling with the lingering smells of medicine, sweat, and blood in the cabin, continuously eroding everyone's emotional baseline.
The rations of food and water had been pushed to the critical threshold of survival.
Each person received only two tiny pieces of compressed dry food, the size of a fingernail, per day. Drinking water was distributed in precise drops using a dropper, just enough to moisten the throat. Hunger scorched their stomachs, and thirst caused their lips to crack and peel. The children no longer had the strength to cry loudly; they merely curled up quietly in their mothers' arms, their eyes blank. The private disputes among the crowd decreased, replaced by widespread numbness. Many people sat in the same position for long periods, staring at the floor or the dim yellow halo of the emergency lights, remaining silent and reacting sluggishly to external stimuli.
Lin Yan stayed by the terminal, his Sea of Consciousness continuously extending outward for detection. The prolonged, overloaded perception caused his headaches to worsen constantly, and his vision occasionally blurred with darkness. On the screen, the distribution of peripheral thermal signatures had not changed much. The three third-tier scaled beasts took shifts guarding the outside of the gate, while the remaining ordinary scaled beasts patrolled back and forth along the outer walls, showing no signs of launching a direct assault. Deep underground in the rock layer, the Spiderweb Ancient Being was still scattering fragmented spores. Countless tiny spore clusters hid in the seams of the rock, slowly spreading like a silently unfolding dark net.
"The consciousness of the five ancient beings underground has not moved; they are still firmly guarding the core of the rift," Lin Yan said slowly, his voice laced with exhaustion. "The Beast Commander's tactics remain unchanged, persisting with the siege of attrition. They are waiting for us to collapse internally first."
Scholar Su walked to the terminal, his gaze sweeping over the dense ring of thermal signatures surrounding the gate. He remained silent for a long time before asking, "How much time do we have left?"
"At the current rate of consumption, the drinking water can support a maximum of nine days, and the rations ten days. The oxygen purification module will experience a cliff-like drop in efficiency after seven days," the adjutant reported the numbers in a low voice.
Nine days.
This was the countdown for how long the iron box could maintain order. Once the water and food were exhausted, or the air began to turn foul, there would be no need for the scaled beasts to break the door; the shelter pod would fall into complete chaos from within.
Deep within the cavern, the consciousness of the five ancient beings resonated quietly.
The Beast Commander continued to arrange for the scaled beasts to rotate and rest, conserving their strength and avoiding pointless expenditure. The Sharp-Sense Ancient Being meticulously controlled the threshold of psychic erosion, keeping it at a level of continuous consumption without directly breaking down large numbers of people in a short time. The Illusion Ancient Being continued to project illusions of past peace, harvesting the remaining hope. The Spiderweb Ancient Being was in no rush to drive the spores into the cabin; it patiently cultivated the spore colonies in the rock layer, slowly transforming this mountain into its own territory.
The supreme ruler's consciousness hovered above its kin, quietly sensing the flow of emotions inside the shelter pod.
It had seen humanity's resolute decision to seal the back door. It had seen their stubborn persistence in sending messages outward at regular intervals, even as their distress signals vanished without a trace. It had witnessed countless trapped human groups; most quickly descended into frantic looting once their retreat was cut off. Yet, this group from the West Bastion was still barely maintaining order, taking shifts, caring for the wounded, and soothing the civilians, relying on a sliver of remaining tacit understanding to hold on. This resilience sparked a trace of curiosity in its indifferent consciousness.
But it would not stop because of this.
Pity was never part of the ancient beings' logic. The victory or defeat of a war of attrition ultimately depended on who reached their limit first. It was willing to continue waiting, watching as hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and endless mental torment slowly ground away this fragile shell of order.
Time slowly passed, and another shift cycle arrived.
In the radio booth, the guard pressed the transmit button once again. The weak long-wave signal broke free from the constraints of the rock layer, drifting toward the vast, boundless wasteland and the other human bastions. The radio waves traveled through the air filled with spore dust, lonely and faint, like a match on the verge of burning out in the darkness.
After the transmission was complete, the headphones still held only the boundless hiss of white noise. There was not a single echo.
However, about half an hour after the message was sent, an abnormal signal alert suddenly popped up on the terminal in front of Lin Yan.
It was not a response from the long-wave radio.
It was the spore signal of the Spiderweb Ancient Being deep within the rock layer, beginning to converge toward the pipelines at the bottom of the main gate.
"Something's wrong." Lin Yan's pupils contracted slightly as he quickly slid the screen to zoom in on the signal area. "They were previously infiltrating in a dispersed manner. Now, the spore clusters are gathering at the foundation pipelines of the gate. They intend to cultivate spore clusters at the base of the gate!"
Scholar Su's expression changed drastically, and he quickly leaned in toward the screen. "The foundation pipelines of the gate? That is the pipeline route for the entire hydraulic locking system of the gate!"
Once the spores infiltrated the hydraulic mechanisms along the pipelines and corroded the sealing components, the locking system of the thick alloy gate would fail. By then, there would be no need for the scaled beasts to ram the steel plate open; the gate would lose its lock on its own and swing outward.
What was originally merely a psychological siege had finally prompted the ancient beings to take action and touch the gate itself.
Outside the door, the ramming sounds of the third-tier scaled beasts remained steady—thud, thud, thud, methodical and unhurried. But this layer of ramming had already become a smokescreen to cover the underground tide of spore poison.
The noose was quietly wrapping itself around the very foundation of the gate.
End of Chapter.
According to the established protocols, he had to transmit an encrypted distress message every two hours. The message detailed the coordinates of the West Bastion, the number of remaining survivors, the inventory of supplies, and key intelligence regarding the ancient beings' siege. When the transmit button was pressed, the weak radio waves broke through the thick spore cloud and rock layers, drifting toward the other five bastions. Yet, from the beginning of the siege until now, apart from the endless static, not a single response signal had ever been received in the headphones.
"Message sent. No acknowledgment," the guard reported to Scholar Su in a hoarse voice as he took off his headphones.
Scholar Su nodded gently, a lingering heaviness hidden in his eyes. Everyone knew in their hearts that hope was growing increasingly slim. The six bastions were simultaneously under full-scale assault by the lizard ancient beings. Every defensive line was locked in a bloody battle, and the communication network had suffered massive damage. Even if a message was luckily intercepted by another stronghold, whether they could spare troops or break through the densely distributed scaled beast blockades along the way to reach the West Bastion remained entirely unknown.
"Do not stop. Continue sending on schedule," Scholar Su instructed in a low voice. "As long as the radio can still operate, this outward channel must not be severed."
Beyond the booth, the cabin remained submerged in oppressive agony.
After the back door was completely sealed by the rock layer, everyone's attention was forcibly drawn to the main gate, the sole remaining line of defense. The three third-tier scaled beasts took turns leading the charge to ram the alloy door. The rhythm of the ramming was slow and steady—thud, thud, thud. Each impact transmitted through the thick steel plate, becoming a constant background noise within the iron box.
The gate itself was strong enough to withstand the physical impact of the scaled beasts and would not shatter in the short term. The Beast Commander naturally understood this; the purpose of the ramming was never to break the door, but to deliver continuous psychological blows. It deliberately timed the impacts for the moments when people were just about to doze off. Whenever someone managed to endure the psychic sting and their consciousness was on the verge of sinking into sleep, a muffled ram would suddenly ring out, forcefully dragging them back to the cold, sober reality.
The Sea of Consciousness erosion by the Sharp-Sense Ancient Being still maintained a constant intensity, like a blunt nail permanently embedded in everyone's mind. There was no sudden, explosive agony, but the pain was omnipresent. Dizziness, fatigue, and a lack of focus became the norm. Many soldiers on guard duty had to repeatedly pinch their own arms hard during their shifts, relying on the physical pain of their flesh to fight against the numbness and illusions surging within their Sea of Consciousness.
The tactics of the Illusion Ancient Being grew increasingly insidious.
The scenes of bloody slaughter decreased, replaced by fragmented memories of the distant past. Some saw clothes drying in their own courtyards, with evening cooking smoke slowly rising. Some heard the bustling crowds in the bastion's marketplace, the familiar cries of vendors echoing in their ears. Still others saw scenes of resting with their comrades before the war, the laughter and joy so clear it felt within reach. These illusions held no malice, yet they were the most grueling. After the fleeting beauty faded, the resulting sense of loss magnified the despair manifold.
A young military police officer fell into an illusion while on guard, a faint smile unconsciously appearing on his face as his grip on the short spear slowly loosened. It wasn't until his teammate beside him shoved him hard and repeatedly shouted the wake-up code that he suddenly came to his senses. The smile instantly froze on his face. Looking down at the enclosed, dim cabin, his shoulders trembled slightly. He did not cry out loud; he merely gripped his weapon again, his fingertips turning white from the force.
The situation in the wounded area continued to deteriorate.
Two more wounded soldiers developed persistent high fevers from wound infections. The military doctor had absolutely no anti-infection drugs left and could only continuously apply cool gauze to physically lower their temperatures. Two more bodies were added to those covered by canvas. The small storage compartment was nearly full. The corpses slowly emitted a strange odor, mingling with the lingering smells of medicine, sweat, and blood in the cabin, continuously eroding everyone's emotional baseline.
The rations of food and water had been pushed to the critical threshold of survival.
Each person received only two tiny pieces of compressed dry food, the size of a fingernail, per day. Drinking water was distributed in precise drops using a dropper, just enough to moisten the throat. Hunger scorched their stomachs, and thirst caused their lips to crack and peel. The children no longer had the strength to cry loudly; they merely curled up quietly in their mothers' arms, their eyes blank. The private disputes among the crowd decreased, replaced by widespread numbness. Many people sat in the same position for long periods, staring at the floor or the dim yellow halo of the emergency lights, remaining silent and reacting sluggishly to external stimuli.
Lin Yan stayed by the terminal, his Sea of Consciousness continuously extending outward for detection. The prolonged, overloaded perception caused his headaches to worsen constantly, and his vision occasionally blurred with darkness. On the screen, the distribution of peripheral thermal signatures had not changed much. The three third-tier scaled beasts took shifts guarding the outside of the gate, while the remaining ordinary scaled beasts patrolled back and forth along the outer walls, showing no signs of launching a direct assault. Deep underground in the rock layer, the Spiderweb Ancient Being was still scattering fragmented spores. Countless tiny spore clusters hid in the seams of the rock, slowly spreading like a silently unfolding dark net.
"The consciousness of the five ancient beings underground has not moved; they are still firmly guarding the core of the rift," Lin Yan said slowly, his voice laced with exhaustion. "The Beast Commander's tactics remain unchanged, persisting with the siege of attrition. They are waiting for us to collapse internally first."
Scholar Su walked to the terminal, his gaze sweeping over the dense ring of thermal signatures surrounding the gate. He remained silent for a long time before asking, "How much time do we have left?"
"At the current rate of consumption, the drinking water can support a maximum of nine days, and the rations ten days. The oxygen purification module will experience a cliff-like drop in efficiency after seven days," the adjutant reported the numbers in a low voice.
Nine days.
This was the countdown for how long the iron box could maintain order. Once the water and food were exhausted, or the air began to turn foul, there would be no need for the scaled beasts to break the door; the shelter pod would fall into complete chaos from within.
Deep within the cavern, the consciousness of the five ancient beings resonated quietly.
The Beast Commander continued to arrange for the scaled beasts to rotate and rest, conserving their strength and avoiding pointless expenditure. The Sharp-Sense Ancient Being meticulously controlled the threshold of psychic erosion, keeping it at a level of continuous consumption without directly breaking down large numbers of people in a short time. The Illusion Ancient Being continued to project illusions of past peace, harvesting the remaining hope. The Spiderweb Ancient Being was in no rush to drive the spores into the cabin; it patiently cultivated the spore colonies in the rock layer, slowly transforming this mountain into its own territory.
The supreme ruler's consciousness hovered above its kin, quietly sensing the flow of emotions inside the shelter pod.
It had seen humanity's resolute decision to seal the back door. It had seen their stubborn persistence in sending messages outward at regular intervals, even as their distress signals vanished without a trace. It had witnessed countless trapped human groups; most quickly descended into frantic looting once their retreat was cut off. Yet, this group from the West Bastion was still barely maintaining order, taking shifts, caring for the wounded, and soothing the civilians, relying on a sliver of remaining tacit understanding to hold on. This resilience sparked a trace of curiosity in its indifferent consciousness.
But it would not stop because of this.
Pity was never part of the ancient beings' logic. The victory or defeat of a war of attrition ultimately depended on who reached their limit first. It was willing to continue waiting, watching as hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and endless mental torment slowly ground away this fragile shell of order.
Time slowly passed, and another shift cycle arrived.
In the radio booth, the guard pressed the transmit button once again. The weak long-wave signal broke free from the constraints of the rock layer, drifting toward the vast, boundless wasteland and the other human bastions. The radio waves traveled through the air filled with spore dust, lonely and faint, like a match on the verge of burning out in the darkness.
After the transmission was complete, the headphones still held only the boundless hiss of white noise. There was not a single echo.
However, about half an hour after the message was sent, an abnormal signal alert suddenly popped up on the terminal in front of Lin Yan.
It was not a response from the long-wave radio.
It was the spore signal of the Spiderweb Ancient Being deep within the rock layer, beginning to converge toward the pipelines at the bottom of the main gate.
"Something's wrong." Lin Yan's pupils contracted slightly as he quickly slid the screen to zoom in on the signal area. "They were previously infiltrating in a dispersed manner. Now, the spore clusters are gathering at the foundation pipelines of the gate. They intend to cultivate spore clusters at the base of the gate!"
Scholar Su's expression changed drastically, and he quickly leaned in toward the screen. "The foundation pipelines of the gate? That is the pipeline route for the entire hydraulic locking system of the gate!"
Once the spores infiltrated the hydraulic mechanisms along the pipelines and corroded the sealing components, the locking system of the thick alloy gate would fail. By then, there would be no need for the scaled beasts to ram the steel plate open; the gate would lose its lock on its own and swing outward.
What was originally merely a psychological siege had finally prompted the ancient beings to take action and touch the gate itself.
Outside the door, the ramming sounds of the third-tier scaled beasts remained steady—thud, thud, thud, methodical and unhurried. But this layer of ramming had already become a smokescreen to cover the underground tide of spore poison.
The noose was quietly wrapping itself around the very foundation of the gate.
End of Chapter.